Twenty Years
by Huldra
Summary: It has been twenty years and Harry is happily enjoying a warm day in spring with his favourite book when new stories are revealed to him. Continuous one shot.
1. Twenty Years

**Title: **Twenty Years  
**Author: **Huldra  
**Disclaimer: **All characters belong to J.K. Rowling with the exception of old Mr Crickey who was so kind as to make an appearance.  
**Warning/note: **This story is overly **fluffy**. It's full of simpering and love, but I was in the mood to write something in the theme of spring. Not everyone's cup of tea, but hey, I needed something nice after all the ANGST I usually dish up. Also it's **slash**-themed.

* * *

**Twenty Years**

It had only been in the corner of his eye for a second but it had made Harry draw his breath and turn in a rather dramatic swirl. Searching between the rows of shelves stacked high with books there was no one there except a young girl with a long green dress in a decidedly new ageish style, and a middle aged man pretending he wasn't really peeking at the books in the "adult literature" section. There had been no dark man there staring at him from above the cover of a book. Shaking his head and chiding himself for his paranoid notions Harry turned back to the books he was poring over. Ah there it was; Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen. It was his guilty pleasure. The last copy of his favourite book had unfortunately perished in the great "Fire Incident" as he liked to refer to it as. He had been taking down all his books and stacking them up neatly in order to dust his bookshelves properly when the otherwise so enjoyable fire in the grate had sparked and a glow had shot out landing on the highly flammable paper. At least eighty books had perished after first having been burned to cinder by the fire and then poured water on.

Lovingly stroking the cover of the book Harry opened it and sniffed appreciatively. New book smell was different from used book smell, but he loved them both just as much. His book obsession hadn't really escalated into the full-blown obsession it was now until about eight or so years ago. Previously he had been just too occupied with building a career, getting married and having children to be able to spend, or waste as his younger self would have said, time on books and literature. Lately Harry had even sat himself down in front of the computer in his study to _write_ from time to time. There hadn't really been any amazing plots revealing itself to him yet, so he used the new found burst of creativity to colourfully write down his own experiences from The Last War. He knew it was somewhat of a cliché, but it was really the only thing he could come up with. At the moment of course, Harry was sure that any day now a story would suddenly plop into his mind like magic, and he would be writing like mad. He needed that.

Walking up to the desk to pay for the book he smiled politely to the cashier who returned it half-heartedly before dismissing him completely in favour of doing her job as quickly as possible. There was something so relieving about moving around in the muggle world. No one really stopped and stared or gasped or lost things on the floor in eagerness when he walked past. To be honest this didn't occur as often in the Wizarding World as it previously had, but it happened often enough for Harry to choose the more ignorant audience of the Muggle World whenever he could.

Thanking the cashier warmly and getting an appreciative "have a good day, sir!" in return for not being a general bastard, he exited the store. The bell rang as he opened the door and he took a deep breath of the warm, but at the same time so deceptive crisp, spring air outside. The winter had been uncomfortably long this year, but suddenly summer had come barging in and all the snow had been melted in the matter of a day. The next week the flowers were already blooming and the trees had draped themselves in beautiful and lively green. Everyone had shed their outercoats and basked in the warm sun and freedom of not having to wear seven layers of clothes. Harry was one of them, though he _was _wearing the thick sweater Ginny had put out for him before she left for work.

Truth be told, he should have been at work too, but these bright spring days were just too glorious to miss by sitting inside a dusty office several metres underground. Godric's Hollow was a very nice, though quite eventless, place to live Harry noted as he nodded to nice old Mr. Crickey as he passed him walking down the street. It was refreshing to live in a society mixed between muggles and wizards. No one judged anyone else for the simple reason that everyone was just as strange or eccentric, magical or not. Putting his hands into his jeans pockets and letting the bag with his new purchase dangle from his wrist Harry made a turn and stopped dead in his tracks. Just across the street stood the man with his back to him, apparently busy studying something in the shopwindow. Harry might not have been able to see his face, but he recognized the man from the bookstore nevertheless. So he hadn't imagined it after all? Forcing his feet to walk again Harry hurried to cross the street, but managed to stop himself just as a bus drove past in high speed. The loud sound of the large vehicle was offending and Harry found himself taking a good few steps back and stare after it with an annoyed grimace on his face. But then he remembered the dark man and swirled his head back to confront him, only to find that the spot which had previously been occupied was now decidedly Mystery Man free.

It was quite ridiculous, all of it. Harry was loosing his marbles at last; there could be no other explanation. Why else would he see Severus Snape at every corner only for the man to disappear when he looked closer? He had been dead for twenty years_. Twenty long years_. He wouldn't come back, none of them would. A cloud must have blown in front of the sun by the breeze as the world suddenly seemed like a much darker and colder place. Hunching up his shoulders Harry turned back in the direction which would lead him home and trudged on.

Maybe the sudden creativity and imagination he had acquired as of late was making him see things which weren't really there. There were nothing more to it than ignoring it and not talk to anyone about it. Heaven knows people looked at him weirdly enough as it was, even twenty years after he had vanquished the person who had made him "special". The scar was still there of a sorts, but a lot less visible. All that was left was a thin white line which could only be seen if you knew where to look. Most people did of course, but Harry was adapt at letting his hair grow just so it covered it. He might not have the power of making it lie flat, but he could make it obscure his face if nothing else.

On his way home Harry passed the park of Godric's Hollow and in a spur of spring joy decided he could sit down and read some of Pride and Prejudice on one of the benches there. The green of the trees had a poisonous colour to it, as if so much life was returning back to the leaves they were glowing with it. Poison, like snake poison. And the grass would try and match it, but with a much more dark and mature shade. Like the green of Slytherin house. Shaking his head again Harry smiled ruefully to himself. He was really getting into quite a state! Perhaps he should have gone to work after all since it seemed as if walking around idly made him quite barmy in the head.

But they were hardly any new thoughts, were they?

Sitting down heavily on the bench underneath the great ash by the pond Harry let out a long sigh. The emigrating geese immediately took an interest in him and swam closer. Waving his hands by his sides to show them that he had unfortunately forgotten to walk by the bakery they didn't even spare him a glance before turning their tail feathers to him.

On the other side of the pond a young couple was walking hand in hand, so caught up in staring deeply into the other's eyes it was a wonder they didn't trip in each other's feet. A smile, which could either be interpreted as wistful or reflecting, curved Harry's lips and his eyes turned away from the sight.

Opening his bag he fished out his new book and rested it on his lap. Personally Harry was slightly sad for there never having been any follower up. What had happened to poor Mary? And Lydia? Had the relationship between Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy really been that great in the long run, them being so different? But Harry supposed they had been quite similar on all the points that counted: in their passions, beliefs and utter loyalty. Just like himself and… someone else. Hadn't he been a bit like Elizabeth? Quick to judge without really trying to see behind the scenes or understand what was happening. He, like Elizabeth, had gotten the full story in the end, but it had been too late for him.

Not to say he hadn't had a wonderful life. He loved and cared for Ginny very much, and he had three wonderful children and a nice accomplished career. What more could a man really want?

Yes what indeed…

Looking up again with the intention of finding out where the young couple had gone he found his breath hitch in his throat for the third time that day. This time there was really no mistake. The man stood right in front of him, staring at him as if he had been doing so for quite some time already. He seemed undisturbed by Harry's lack of dignity as the book fell out of his lap when he jumped to his feet only to sit down again when his head started to reel dangerously. Harry's heart must have stopped beating only to start again with the intention to kill him as it was now pulsing so furiously it was a wonder it held together at all. Clutching at his chest Harry's face paled to a sickly paste white colour before turning red, then purple, then blue.

'In Merlin's name, breathe!' Severus Snape barked as he took a few steps forward to slap Harry across the face.

The sting of the slap chased the complete blankness which had settled over him away, but he was anything but composed. Harry's mouth moved like a fish on land without making a sound other than illegible quacks. Severus took the silence of the other man as an invitation to sit down on the bench beside him. Bending down he picked up the fallen book, dusting off the little insects which had already contemplated making it their new home.

'Pride and Prejudice?' he commented dryly with a raised eyebrow. 'Yes I did see you look at something like this in the bookstore. Really Potter. Though I suppose it shouldn't surprise me that when you first got an interest in books it had be sleazy romance novels.'

'It's not sleazy!' Harry finally managed to bark and snapped the book out of the supposedly dead man's hands. Severus only folded them neatly in his lap and crossed his legs with a sort of practiced grace. The movement of the other man made Harry glance over him with a new sense of detail and was surprised to find that he was wearing muggle clothes. He couldn't remember ever having seen Severus wear muggle clothes previously. Not that he had ever had the need, of course. There were many changes and the most notable to Harry was the hair, which was the second thing his eyes darted to when he realized he had stared at the other man's legs a bit too long. It was shorter, neater and overall healthier. The entire man seemed healthier. More meat on his bones, and even if the hue of his skin was still a decidedly British pale it was no longer tinted yellow. But the eyes were the same bottomless black as they had always been. How could Harry remember them so well, as if it was only yesterday he had stared into them for the last time, and not twenty years ago?

It might be because he had dreamt of them every night since then.

'How? Why? When? _How_?' blurted Harry, unable to phrase the questions any more intelligently.

Severus took a deep breath through his nose and leant back on the bench, letting his eyes take in every detail of the park, still ever watchful.

'I faked it,' was all he supplied and it didn't seem as if he was going to be spilling his guts any time soon.

'You… you _faked_ it? Faked what!?' Harry was aware that his voice was growing shrill, but he felt he had every right to be a bit hysterical at this point.

'My death you mor-' Severus bit in him the last word but his scowl told Harry quite clearly what he wanted to call him.

A silence welled up between them as Severus stared at the pond and Harry stared at Severus. He had silver streaks in his hair now, but Harry supposed that only had to be expected as he had even himself found a grey hair just the other day. A voice in the back of his head, which was quite insistent really, still kept on claiming that this was all his overactive imagination playing with him. This couldn't be reality because Severus was dead and had been for twenty years. And now he was supposedly sitting there, even more dashing than he had ever been before, as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

No one had ever been able to evoke as deep emotions in Harry as Severus. No one had made him feel such deep hatred, disgust, disbelief, fear or indeed, love. The last was a close guarded secret, something which had developed through time. Harry had often taken himself harshly by the collar and shaken himself quite soundly. It was just a romancing of something which had never been, and would never be, true. While alive Harry had felt nothing but disgust and hatred for the other man. It wasn't until he was dead that a grudging sense of respect had been forced upon him, and somehow he had managed to fool himself to think it was love.

And now he was sitting there, the epitome of everything he had imagined in his pathetic need to glorify every person who had meant something to him in some way. First his parents, then Sirius, and eventually Severus. He had even named his youngest son after the man desperate to let his memory live on for a generation longer.

'You faked your death and just left us here…' said Harry finally in an impossibly quiet voice. It should have been drowned in the spring breeze, but he knew Severus had heard him. 'I don't think I am really able to deal with this. Granted it all being the truth and not me having gone off my rocker, of course.'

'I never really intended on returning,' answered Severus in the same quiet tone of voice, as if they were talking about something highly forbidden. And perhaps they were.

'So… your plan was to die, to disappear and leave us all behind thinking you dead. Just leaving like that, without a last word or anything?' Harry could feel the lump in his throat choke up his voice and tears threatened at the edge of his vision. He silently cursed himself. It wasn't enough that he was caught reading Pride and Prejudice, no, he was near crying in front of the man who would be the least understanding about it.

Severus expression was unreadable, but the fact that he didn't have anything to say was more than enough for Harry.

'You didn't think it would matter to any of us did you? That you wouldn't be missed, or grieved?'

'I must admit it never really even occurred to me, I was too busy saving my own skin.'

The way he talked was different from the way Harry remembered it. It was more similar to the conversations he had imagined in his mind, calm and relatively decent. Was it all the years which had passed or just proof that this was all a part of his twisted imagination? Who went around making up conversations with their dead Potions professors anyway? Especially the professors you had sworn to hate, and who had treated you as less than dirt the entire time they had known you. Severus had only saved him because he was Lily's son, but he couldn't help but hope that somewhere on that road Severus had in fact seen Harry as more than just the result of his parent's marriage, and ultimately Lily's betrayal to Severus.

'Are you just a fiction of my imagination, or are you actually here?' Harry finally ventured to ask, knowing full well that if Severus actually _were_ real he had just made a mighty fool of himself.

The corners of Severus' mouth quirked upwards just a little, wrinkles appeared around his eyes to finally show off a sense of humour which previously had never been detected in that mask of a face. It took Harry's breath nearly away and he couldn't help but answer the smile in kind, perhaps even a fraction wider in relief.

'It would be easier for me to say that I was indeed a part of your fiction,' said Severus, making Harry's heart lurch painfully with what all that this implied. 'But that would also be an unnecessary lie.'

Shaking his head for the hundredth time already that day Harry couldn't work his way around it. There were too many unanswered questions and he was afraid of giving voice to any of them in case Severus would deny him the answers. It would be impossible to live with that; knowing that Severus was indeed alive but not how or why. There were just too many _how _or _whys_ that needed to be asked, frankly.

Eventually Severus uncrossed his legs and rose from the bench. The sudden movement startled Harry out of his contemplations and without thinking he reached out and grabbed a hold of Severus' left arm, halting his progress. Turning with raised eyebrows in mild surprise, Severus stared first at Harry's hand clutching his arm and then travelled up it to land on his face.

'I just- I just needed to talk to you a bit more,' muttered Harry flustered, grudgingly letting go of the arm in favour of clenching his hand into a fist and placing it on top of his book.

'Then stop sitting there simpering like a fool and walk with me,' said Severus unkindly while turning and removing himself a few steps before stopping with his back to Harry. It was strange to see him move without the heavy, black robes billowing around him, but somehow he managed to give the same impression even with just a pair of black trousers and a sensible sweater.

Jumping up from the bench Harry hurried to place the book back in its bag and moved up to Severus' side. The other man started to walk again without even looking at him, but Harry didn't mind.

The sun was peeking from behind the clouds again, bathing the pond in a light which made it twinkle with a thousand diamonds. They passed the young couple who had found a tree to snuggle up to as they held each other's hands and kissed passionately. In a fleeting moment Harry was wondering why they didn't worry about catching a something sitting there on the cold ground, but then he remembered that when you were young a cold wasn't a threat against the feeling of being in love.

Spring. The season of love, no matter how cliché that might sound, Harry knew it was true. Even at the age of thirty seven he could still feel the blood boil through his veins and his heart skip as his stomach was infested with butterflies. Walking there beside Severus and watching all the life happen around them his previous feeling of contentment returned, even if it was obscured by confusion and curiosity.

But there were things that needed to be asked, that needed to be found out. It might have been twenty years ago, but one didn't forget watching another human bleed to death by a vicious bite to the neck. The bite and the blood had been real, they had even buried him!

Just as Harry was thinking furiously to come up with a way to phrase his questions Severus broke the silence all on his own.

'I don't really have to explain myself to you,' he said quietly, as if to make sure Harry didn't get any ideas of importance. 'But I will highlight a few things for you, because I am just that kind.' Harry had to feign a cough in order to disguise the untimely need to laugh at the last statement. Severus only raised an eyebrow and spared Harry a withering glance from the corner of his eye.

'The fact that you Gryffindors actually thought me dead in the first place goes a long way to prove why the Dark Lord nearly managed to overthrow this country not only once, but _twice_. If any of you had bothered to open a book once in a while you would all know that there are more than enough Dark Arts texts on how to bind a soul to the body, dying or not. Granted, this is what more often than not creates what the common man would call a zombie, but if you know enough you will easily be able to artificially keep your body alive until you are able to heal it properly. And transfiguring something into looking only marginally like a dead corpse is ridiculously easy if everyone is expecting to see just this.'

Even muggle illusionists are able to pull most of that off.'

Harry nodded solemnly through the entire speech, but couldn't help but think that Severus loved hearing his own voice perhaps a bit too much. There was something so reassuring in knowing that the intelligence he had always credited Severus with had never been forfeited. While Severus had watched over him he had always been safe, he knew that now. Severus was not someone who lost under any circumstances and if he had promised that he would make Harry win over Voldemort then he would win over Voldemort. No wonder Dumbledore had trusted his dubious spy.

'I am sure you can imagine that when the war was getting to a close I was quite busy trying to find a way for me to be able to get out of it relatively unscathed. With Albus… out of the game this would prove quite difficult.

'Yes I could testify that I had indeed acted on Dumbledore's orders, but somehow I doubted that would be sufficient for the Ministry to oversee the fact that I had been the cause of quite a few murders on His side during the war. Whether I killed on The Dark Lord's orders or Albus' was one and the same to them as no matter how you look at it I posed a direct threat to the Ministry.'

'And besides,' said Severus, stopping unexpectedly in his quick stride to turn and look down on Harry who nearly pumped into him in surprise. 'I really wanted to see what all this "freedom" talk was really about.'

An eyebrow was raised and the sides of his mouth quirked up and the humour glinted in his eyes again. Harry found himself fighting for his breath as his own silly grin threatened to overtake his entire face.

'And did you find that freedom?' asked Harry, hoping that the breathlessness he felt wasn't actually audible. On some level he was quite conscious of what kind of fool he might portray himself as, but the rush in his ears drowned it all out.

'Yes, in many ways I did,' answered Severus, and if Harry hadn't known better he could have sworn the man looked wistful. 'But then I realized that after twenty years of travelling there was something I left back here which always would force me to return sooner or later.'

Harry raised his eyebrows in surprise at hearing this. He couldn't really imagine what it could be that meant so much to the other man that he would return from his self-imposed exile. Severus had turned his back to him again as he continued the walk around the pond, seemingly quite unconcerned whether Harry was following or not. The crisp breeze of spring took a hold of his hair, making a wonderful mess of it nearly able to rival Harry's own.

'And what was that?' called Harry after the man, unable to keep his curiousness in check, and perhaps even a bit of jealousy was nagging somewhere in there.

Severus didn't stop, but he did slow down enough to turn his head and look at Harry, the hair obscuring the slight scowl on his face.

'You,' he sneered condescendingly.


	2. Two Decades

**Title: **Two Decades  
**Author: **Huldra  
**Disclaimer: **All characters belong to J.K. Rowling, except poor David.  
**Note: **A stand for itself one-shot, read together with Twenty Years but in Severus' POV

**Two Decades**

Now that I was finally back in England I wondered what on earth had possessed me to return. The second I closed my eyes and remembered all the horrors of the Last War a cold shudder would run through my body. Even with all the changes, things were still a bit too familiar for my taste. It was a sort of ice cold remembrance that not even the heat of the deserts had been able to chase out of my bones, and now it was all returning full force.

But now, after two decades of restless roaming of the world, I was back in good old England despite my best judgment. Flickering through London I had noticed a sad lack of the double-deckers and telephone boxes, though I could vaguely remember the muggles arranging to have them taken away already when I was "alive". Everything seemed to have grown, though. Even peaceful Godric's Hollow sported its own shopping mall, and countless new schools and kindergartens had been built; a new generation was being raised with muggle and wizard children side by side.

Upon returning it had been ridiculously easy to track down Harry, even after two decades the stir around him hadn't calmed down. I suspected it was because he had kept himself profiled during his rather impressive climb up the career ladder to become Head of the Auror Department. Had he just taken his money, wife and kids to some godforsaken cottage in Wales and disappeared from the public eye he would have been forgotten within five years. At the most.

But as it were, I had only to sit down at the Leaky Cauldron, lean in to quietly ask the closest witch where I could find a certain Mr. Harry Potter in a badly faked foreign accent, and I would get not only his whereabouts but also his exact street address and a description of his house. I had been slightly surprised that Harry hadn't moved into his parent's old house, but when I later considered all the things which had transpired there it might not have been that peculiar after all. Only I, the master of masochism, bothered to move back to a haunted childhood home.

Letting my mind continue down those tracks I found myself wondering idly whether or not the wretched house still stood, or if the elements of time had finally managed to level it with the ground. At the moment I was currently renting a functional, though a bit small (but really, considering I had spent a year on the tundra of Mongolia I couldn't really complain about living conditions), apartment from a nice old lady north of town. And by nice I meant a completely off her rocker, barmy old hag with a sweet tooth for tender young men.

I was standing in my silk pajama bottoms, a gift from my last boyfriend, brushing my teeth in the rather crowded bathroom when an insistent knocking thundered on my door. Muttering obscenities to myself I spat rather viciously into the sink, imagining it to be whomever deemed themselves worthy to disturb me this early in the morning (it wasn't even noon yet!) and rounded the corner to open the door. The fist that had been knocking so insistently was raised high and just about to smash into the place which had been the door but was now, in fact, my face, hadn't it been for my ability to foresee when appropriate to dodge. A person, who was perhaps half a head shorter than me, stood with his back turned and peered down the hallway. I didn't have to see his face to recognize that miserable mop of hair.

'Potter, might I enquire as to why you are trying to knock down my door by force?'

My rather irritated voice made him turn with surprise, his already round eyes growing even rounder upon seeing my state of undress. His mouth formed a little O as his gaze involuntarily travelled down my body. When his attention returned to my face his mouth shut with a clip and he seemed to shake himself rather violently.

'I am sorry,' he said a tad breathlessly, 'but there is this old lady down the hall,' he leaned in to whisper, 'and she's wearing a rather revealing morning gown and has been winking at me and making kissy lips, and I must admit it feels rather awkward.' Raising my head I looked over his and down the hall. Quite correctly I found her standing there waving at us a few doors down in a see-through gown, and as far as I could tell she was wearing nothing underneath. With a shudder I grabbed a hold of Harry's shoulder and pushed him into the apartment before shutting the door rather noisily.

'That was Miss. Totter. Just nod and smile at her and walk straight ahead without gaining eye contact and she will leave you alone after a while,' I said upon seeing Harry's still worried gaze on the shut door. 'So, how did you find me?'

Harry was still struggling with my choice of night clothes, his eyes flickering between my face and my bare chest. 'Err…' he said, well "said" really, 'I… errm… there was this… Eh!' I crossed my arms in impatience, waiting for him to finish. 'I mean, I am Head of the Auror Department, it was easy to track you down!' he finally half shouted at my bellybutton.

'Indeed,' I said levelly, enjoying the sight of his blushing face. 'Well if you don't mind, I am going to get _dressed_.'

'What?' asked Harry, and if I hadn't known better I would have said he looked nearly disappointed. 'Oh! Oh yeah. I'll just go and sit down in the living room then, shall I?'

'Good luck on forcing your way in there,' I commented dryly before returning to my morning routine in the bathroom.

I admit I spent a while longer in the bathroom than absolutely necessary just to make Harry feel a bit more uncomfortable. When I finally exited and made my way into the living room I found him engrossed in a pile of photographs that had been lying on one of the opened trunks. I had been meaning to arrange them and put them in a photo book for a long time, but time seemed to escape me. Coughing pointedly I watched Harry startle and as much as throw the photos back into the trunk.

'I'm sorry!' said Harry and quickly rose from the sofa where he had forced himself in between two boxes and a potted plant. 'I didn't mean to peek, they were just lying there and the colours looked exciting and I have never been to Japan myself but I have always wanted to and-'

'How old are you?'

'What?' he asked guardedly, a slight frown creasing his brow.

'You are babbling nonsense just like you used to when I caught you red-handed as a child. We are two grown adults and can communicate as such. At least so I hope.' I raised an eyebrow. 'I am going to make some tea and brunch. You can look at the pictures, I don't mind.'

Harry sat back down awkwardly and peered around himself, but as I walked into the kitchen he was studiously ignoring the photos.

Having travelled the world on the terms of the natives I had long since gotten used to living a magicless life. Besides, it was something very relaxing about boiling tea and making sandwiches the muggle way. Feeling my neck prickle uncomfortably I was not surprised to find Harry standing in the doorway upon turning my head.

'Have you legally changed your name to Michael Evans, or is it just an alias?'

I was taken aback by this unexpected question, but out of year long habit I schooled my face not to show. It was curious that he asked, as I had indeed contemplated changing my name at one point. After having gone to such lengths to fake and fraud my passports, bank accounts and the general history of English muggle Michael Evans, making it my legal name would have been the natural step to take. I suppose the unhappy wizard Severus Snape still resided in me somewhere, and I hadn't been able to completely let him go.

Shaking my head mutely as a negative regarding the name, I turned to rescue the screaming teapot from the stove. Not for the first time since I returned did I wonder if it was a good idea. I had expected to have been buried and forgotten after two decades, but it seemed like I was very much remembered.

That had not been a part of my plan and I worried whether my cover could be blown. What if they decided that putting an escaped Death Eater on trial was a good PR stunt? However, I had gotten out of worse situations before and I trusted in my own abilities not to worry too much.

Living for two decades moving from place to place more or less consistently had taught me to take situations the way they came in a much greater degree than previously in my life.

'Severus… I mean Snape, why did you really come back?'

His use of my given name surprised me (again) enough to turn my head and look at him. For once he wasn't squirming or flustering under my gaze, but stared right back with a sort of set determination to his jaw.

'Are you disappointed I did?' I inquired half jokingly, 'you would rather have me stayed dead?'

'NO!' he nearly yelled at the top of his voice, fists tightened at his sides. The flush was high on his cheeks and his lips had thinned. It took me right back to when I had stood facing an angry and crushed teenager after having murdered his mentor. Carefully I put down the knife I had been using to butter the toast and turned around to face him properly. The confrontation seemed to remind him of his age, and he took a deep breath, letting the softer Harry of his thirties back. 'I apologize. I mean no, no I do not wish you had stayed dead. I- I don't think you realize what it means to me that you are back.'

I could in some ways understand why he had wanted me back. It was not _me _per say, but the feeling of some of his history returning. I had been one of the adults that had, at some point, watched over him as one of his rather dubious and quite reluctant guardians. How much wouldn't I have given for Dumbledore to suddenly ring my doorbell and say "my, how much you have grown my boy! Sherbet?" even if I in many ways loathed his memory just as much as I loved it.

'If you would take these,' I took the platter with sandwiches and handed it to him, 'I'll take the tea.'

My lack of response to what he had just said seemed to have stunned him for a few seconds, but he shook his head and obediently took the platter I was offering.

While we ate and sipped our tea our conversation was what I would call strictly professional, chattering like old acquaintances that had not been able to meet each other in a long time. Strangely, I would like to say, neither of us strayed onto the path concerning our personal lives. Rather we discussed the newest Hollywood blockbuster and how much Harry wanted to see it and how much I wanted to throttle the main actress. To my surprise Harry had also developed a sense of music taste during the last years, or should I say, his was nearly identical to mine and thus exquisite.

But eventually topics ceased to reveal itself and the inevitable feeling of being so alien to each other descended.

The conversation had been quiet for a while and I could see Harry's eyes resting on the photos he had been looking at earlier, a slight frown creasing his brow. I wasn't surprised when he moved his gaze away from them and looked at me, opening his mouth to speak but shut it again as if he had changed his mind about bringing it up.

'What?' I prodded impatiently; I had given him permission to look at them after all.

'No… I just…' he said at length before interrupting himself and giving me and embarrassed smile. Rather charming really. I let the corner of my own mouth return it, and as every time I had dared smiling in his presence he broke into a grin so wide it could rival a child's.

'I was wondering who the man on the pictures is,' said Harry, motioning in their general direction. 'He seems to be a very good friend of you.'

And indeed he had been. I let my eyes follow his motioning hand and my gaze fell on the topmost picture. It was of me and my friend sitting in a jeep out in the outbush of Australia, both wearing dustcoloured and practical uniforms. We had been in Australia for approximately five years, making it one of our longer stays and perhaps the most adventurous.

'His name was David Helmire,' I said, but let the unspoken "we were lovers" hang in the air.

'Was?' asked Harry cautiously, again surprising me in his newfound ability to pick up the subtle.

'Yes…' I took a sip of the now cooling tea, trying to pretend to the entire world it was not to chase away the uncomfortable lump in my throat, threatening to choke me. 'He got diagnosed with cancer perhaps a year ago, now. It was too advanced for any medication to do anything more but prolong his misery. He passed away five months ago.'

I hadn't intended to tell him that much, but somehow it felt good having said it never the less.

'I am terribly sorry for your loss, Severus' said Harry solemnly, the sound of my given name still quite foreign coming from him. I had heard those exact words on too many times and I had come to believe they no longer held any meaning to me, but the sincerity in his voice left me no doubt he meant it. Slightly curious at how he could feel such empathy for a loss which did not concern him I still inclined my head as a thank you.

'May I?' asked Harry tentatively again, leaning towards the photographs. I felt impatient since the consent had been given before, but I bit in me the sharp retort and only nodded shortly. Harry grabbed them carefully, almost reverently, and stared at the first for a long time. 'Couldn't you tell me what happens on the pictures?' he requested, an eager glint in his green eyes.

Smiling silently to myself I rose from my chair. Even moving the potted plant down on the floor gave us little space for two adult men and my thigh was brushing his, but I found myself not minding. Truth be told, human contact felt good again. Yes even with Harry Potter. Scooting an inch closer I began my commentary while he leafed through the pictures at his own leisure:

'Rome, Italy. I had always wanted to go there to see the Vatican and Forum Romanum. David wasn't so enthusiastic, but I still managed to persuade him.'

'Hong Kong, China. Just as amazing as it was horrible.'

'Norway. The fjords every bit as beautiful as they say, though the people there were rather peculiar, I must say.'

'Ah yes, from left to right you have: Sam, she's a spitfire, Runako, frighteningly intelligent man, Dyx, no explanation needed I think, Hitsumi, my favourite in the group, sly bastard, Theresa, beautiful and clever, Cathy, her girlfriend and breathtakingly hilarious, Mac, a crazy Scot, and lastly me and David.'

'New York, all David's idea I assure you.'

'Alaska, coldest place I have ever been. When the winter came I was sure I was going to die even as the natives scoffed and told me it was the warmest winter they had had in over sixty years.'

'That is from David's forty fifth birthday. As you can see he was rather enthusiastic about the present I had gotten him. We didn't usually engage in such public displays of affection so Sam thought it cause to immortalize it with a photograph.'

'This is the apartment we bought in Singapore. David is busy repainting the bedroom. He was of the rather clumsy nature, the fact that I had poured that paint over his head not withstanding.'

'The move in party. Everyone was there plus a few more. Never mind the next few pictures; Dyx had gotten a hold of the camera.'

'The cancer spread faster through David's body than the doctor's had predicted, mostly because he didn't believe in taking any cures, but as you can see he still had enough energy in him to take a two week safari in Africa. That dolt. '

'I wasn't really certain that travelling in his condition was a good idea, but David wanted to spend the last of his time in Egypt for some reason. So here we are after having managed to talk ourselves into the sight of a newly found grave thanks to our archaeology friend, Mr. Letto.'

'That is the last picture taken of David, I think. He's resting out on the veranda. Our view was rather spectacular as you can see. He was especially fond of the architectural buildings around our area, even if they might seem a bit simple.'

I stared at David smiling up at me tiredly. I knew he had been in a lot of pain at the end, one could see as much on his pallid complexion and hollow cheeks, but his magnificent smile had never wavered. The pain which never stopped burning in my chest flared up, making me flinch. Harry was pretending to look at the picture even if I could see him eyeing me from the side, perhaps wondering if I was going to cry and if so what to do about it. But no more tears were forthcoming. I had cried them all and was too weary to open the doors of grief again. After David's death I had isolated myself like I was wont to do, Harry actually being the first person I held a decent conversation with in months.

'Where did you meet him?' asked Harry quietly while he carefully put the pictures back on the coffee table, making sure they did not lie too close to the tea or food. I was a bit nonplussed regarding his curiousness about my private life, which really didn't have anything to do with him, but I was not annoyed per say.

'In Mexico actually,' I said with a smile on my lips as I remembered that one fine afternoon. 'We were drunk out of our minds at a bar and having lost our travelling companions we found solace in each other, both being the only Englishmen in the establishment.'

'He wasn't a wizard?' his surprise quite evident.

'No. He never knew me as anything but Michael Evans.'

He had known nothing of my history, nothing of Severus Prince Snape or what I had done of criminal acts since, actually even before, I graduated school. He hadn't known I was a murderer, but he had guessed that I harboured some secret that I would, _could_, not tell. It was because of him I was back in England now. "Michael, promise me this; when I am gone I want you to go back and confront whatever ghosts it is that still haunts you. Promise."

Of course I had done like he bid me as soon as everything was tied up and organized. And here I was, bumping thighs with Harry Potter and looking at pictures of two decades worth of living. Closure.

Right.

Harry was staring at me again in that owlish way he had since he was a small first year; blinking slowly and with his glasses helping to magnify his already large eyes. This combined with his tousled hair and lightly parted lips helped to give the impression that he was constantly surprised by something. No wonder I had always considered him rather dim. It had not been difficult to recognize him in the bookstore, not at all, though time had made the skinny wretch of a boy into a man. His chin was wider, likewise his shoulders and chest though he still lacked a bit in the height department. But that wasn't really a negative in my opinion. Not that I was really having an opinion on Harry's physique, of course.

Our eyes met and I recalled what Lupin had told me all those years ago about how it nearly seemed as if Harry was channeling Lily's spirit through his eyes. I had grumbled at him then, something about Harry Potter being nothing but a replica of his snotty father. But just before I had faked my death I had relented and stared into Harry's eyes for what I thought the last time, trying to see if what everyone told me was there: namely Lily. I had not found her. Despite all the same greenness and shape, there was no Lily there. This had been exactly what I had wanted to discover and it had let me know that she was indeed dead; it had let me realize that all that I could do had been done. If Lily was truly gone, then I could continue with my own life, there was nothing in England keeping me back anymore.

That had been my belief back then. But now, two decades later, I knew this was not the truth. During some peaceful nights when David had fallen asleep long before me, I would lie listening to the foreign sounds and I would see his eyes. They hadn't held any of the rebellious stubbornness which Lily had harboured a bit too much of, his eyes were continuously seeking, wondering and puzzling. Just like now there he sat blinking at me in that peculiar manner of his which before would have made me sneer in disgust. How dare he not have the same eyes as Lily? How dare he steal her colour but not her soul and her spirit?

She would always be the first person I thought about when I heard the word "love". I had been willing to sacrifice my life for her, well at the very least pretend to, and protect her offspring at all cost. Perhaps somewhere I had seen Harry's continuous _Harry Potterness_ and came to protect that Harry Potter instead of what I internally referred to as just Lily's son.

It was impossible to recall exactly what I had thought at the time, but now I could make up all the reasons that suited my version of the story. All I knew with certainty was that I was glad no trace of Lily was found in those eyes, and I suddenly realized I wanted to know Harry Potter all on his own terms, the owner of the eyes that had haunted me all the years I had been abroad.

My goodness, I must have grown romantic and mushy somewhere along the road. Perhaps the loss of two loves did that to a person, even someone like me. Perhaps _especially_ someone like me.

He was still staring, just like I was staring back, and I found myself wondering what he was thinking. I could feel the heat of his thigh against mine and my eyes went from scrutinizing his to stare at the lips that suddenly seemed peculiarly close to my own. The sunrays thrown through the window gave them a moist glow, highlighting the stubble on his chin. I could scent the lavender soap on his skin and I very nearly closed my eyes in pleasure. It was a strange thing, but I had always been weak for people who smelled like soap, especially flower scented ones.

Letting the inch left of open air between our lips close I knew as I felt the warmth of his lips on mine that the scent of lavender would always remind me of this one moment. Kissing him had not been planned in any way, shape or form, it had only seemed inevitable and Harry was certainly not drawing back. His hand came to rest on my own and he squeezed it tightly. Inclining my head a fraction I was not disappointed when Harry took the invitation and let his tongue lick my bottom lip. Opening my lips I sucked lightly on his tongue before caressing it with my own, revering in both the warmth of the kiss and the shaking breath Harry drew.

Leaning in closer Harry's other hand, the one not clutching mine, kneaded my thigh before travelling up to clutch at my hipbone. I was just about to caress his perfect jawbones when I heard the unmistakable sound of a mobile buzzing. To my chagrin it was not the two buzzes alerting to a message received but the continuous sound of someone calling. Harry stopped the kissing but did not pull away at once, making the break of our kiss regretful and hesitant. Reaching into his pocked he drew out his mobile and looked at the screen.

'Ah fuck…' he murmured to himself before snapping it open and putting it to his ear. 'Oh hello Ginny, what is it? ... Hmm? … No I didn't bother going in to work today… Where I am? … At a friend's place… No, no one you know. His name is err, Michael… Well never mind where I met him, what did you want? … Yeah I'll drop by the store, sure… uhu… uhu… yeah… yeah… uhu… okey… yeah… uhu… sure… Ok, see you then honey… Love you too.'

He shut it and sat for a while staring at it, his lips red after our kiss and a frown on his face. So he had married the youngest Weasley after all. I suppose it had not been a bad choice for him, all things considering. It had been expected by all, of course, and who was Harry Potter to disappoint anyone?

It didn't escape my notice that he was still clutching my hand even as he was staring daggers at his mobile.

'I should probably go now,' he said quietly without moving. 'Ginny wants me to drop by the grocery store and buy in some food. We keep on postponing it now that it is just the two of us eating, and we rarely bother to eat at the same time anyway.'

Why he felt like he needed to indulge this information to me was a mystery, but then again Harry had always liked to chatter unduly.

'So… I suppose you are going to stay here for a little while, since you are renting the place and all?' The stare he gave me was long and owlish, and I found myself smiling again, my heart missing a beat when the sun rose on his face in joy.

'I might, but I will move locations the second I think my cover might be discovered.' This was said in a rather warning tone, as if to chase away any ideas he might have had of running to his friends and talk. He nodded seriously, giving my hand a last squeeze before rising from the sofa, balancing dangerously to not topple over. I let him step over me before I got up myself in order to politely follow him to the door.

'It has been surprisingly nice seeing you again,' he told me as he stood on the other side of the threshold, ready to leave. 'I hope I will be able to come and visit you again, Michael.'

A shrewdness which really shouldn't belong to any Gryffindor glinted in his eyes while he looked over his shoulder to make sure no one saw us before he rose up on his toes and kissed me on the cheek.

'Make sure that you do.'

I watched him walk down the hallway against my own will. Really, I should just have closed the door at once and forgotten all about him. Unfortunately for me the real world just didn't work like that.


End file.
